


Kiss Me At Midnight (I Dare You)

by Still_beating_heart



Series: Cheers To Fanfiction (And 2021) [5]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28391211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_beating_heart/pseuds/Still_beating_heart
Summary: New Year's Eve 1987
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Cheers To Fanfiction (And 2021) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069043
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	Kiss Me At Midnight (I Dare You)

**Author's Note:**

> Canon themes apply, but Billy is alive. This got smuttier than intended. Oops.

Steve doesn't regret coming to this New Year's party, he just regrets coming alone. But Robin already had a date and it's not like he has any friends that are old enough to be his wingman. He feels a little out of place here, with kids he knew from high school. It just feels like he's a different person even if none of them can know why. And from the outside looking in, he's not a different person. He's living in the same shithole town, doing the same shitty jobs, not going to college like everyone else. But he helped save the world, goddamnit! He's a different person!

He leans his butt back against the counter and pretends to be listening to whatever the girl is saying that's been hitting on him since he walked in. He can't remember her name. That's pretty douchey of him, but really, he's pretty sure she's just looking to not be alone at midnight. It's not like he wants to be alone either, but he also doesn't want to just kiss any old random stranger. He can't help it if his eyes have been on the complete opposite of what anyone would expect of him. The complete opposite of anyone he's ever dated before. Long, curly blond hair. Sparkling blue eyes and luscious lips. A smirk that he's never sure if he wants to punch or kiss off his face. 

Steve tries to look away quickly when Billy feels his gaze on him for just a little too long. Busted. Shit. And there's that damn smirk. Steve can't exactly be blamed for staring. His strut begs every set of eyes in the room to look. He's tucked his bottom lip into his teeth, flashing pearly whites in this obnoxiously coy way. Steve is super screwed. Billy effectively shoves his way through the crowd, putting himself right between Steve and what's her name, excusing her from the scene without a word. 

Steve forces himself to maintain eye contact now that he's so close, his staring is what brought him over in the first place, he can't show any weakness now. If he does, Billy will take full advantage of that.

He's looking intently at Steve, and Steve has no idea what he's waiting for. Conversation? A fresh beer? 

The breath gets knocked out of his lungs when Billy's hand clasps his belt, tugging his pelvis snug up against his, bringing his face so close that Steve would be afraid to breathe if his breath would even return, that is. He doesn't say anything. Just stays really close, leaving no space at all between them, Steve can smell his cologne, his cigarettes, his breath mint. Breath mint? Who is Billy kissing? Who did he come here with? As far as Steve can tell, he's been alone all night. 

He leans so close that Steve's entire body goes stiff. Yes, including his cock. Billy's smirk is a clear sign that he noticed, instead of speaking he just cocks his head towards the back door of the place, and walks away. 

When his body contact is gone, Steve can finally breathe again but he feels like he just lost something important. So he does what any man who is not wrapped around the finger of a bad boy with a bad attitude and a fast car would do. He follows him out. 

He gets grabbed so quickly at the base of the steps, he has no time to react, just focuses on not tripping over his feet as Billy's fists wrapped up in his collar drag him into the darkness away from the house. He can see the glint in his eyes, and he knows what it means. He knows a quick and dirty hand job past the tree line is in order. He knows breathing on each other's necks and pretending neither of them wants to feel the other's lips, wants to do more than just jerk each other off. This isn't exactly a new game. And it's not that he's sick of it. He'll take whatever Billy will give him. But Hell, there just comes a point where those godforsaken lips are too much to resist! A point where it's clear that Steve doesn't want to punch the smirk off, he wants to kiss it off and he's certain, "kiss me at midnight," he demands when Billy shoves him into a tree and his hands make themselves busy at his belt, "I dare you."

Billy would never back down from a dare. He can see it glint in his eyes, he can feel the shift in his body language, he can hear him take in a deep breath and weigh his options. Kissing brings it to a whole different level, doesn't it? 

Steve listens to the belt buckles jangling and watches Billy chew his bottom lip as he mulls it over. A mischievous twinkle rising, voice gruff when he demands, "kiss my ass at midnight Harrington."

"Don't tempt me," grasping his hips to spin him, yanking his pants down over his ass. Billy's not expecting it, but he's not fighting it. Planting a hand in the center of his shoulder blades and pushing until Billy bends. Shoving his leather jacket up, exposing some bare skin to the winter elements, it goosebumps immediately and Steve is mostly convinced that it's not from the cold.

A deep breath as he leans in, watches the puff of crystallized air rise from Billy's exhale, grip certain on Billy's pelvis even if every other part of him is uncertain. He does it anyway. Leaving a trail with his tongue from the small of his back down his asscrack. Billy shivers, jolts forwards a little, curses under his breath and Steve braces to be donkey-kicked. It doesn't happen, so Steve carries on. Dipping his tongue between Billy's asscheeks. He's never done this before. Can't say he ever wanted to. But he's got nothing to lose, and Billy's not resisting. So he goes for it. Tracing his rim with his tongue, hearing Billy's breath catch, with his hand sliding under his layers, splayed out on his chest, feeling his ribcage move. 

"Harrington," it's half choked and garbled. Wow, just from that.

Steve stops, lifts his head and waits for whatever command is about to come out of that pretty, dirty mouth. Taking note of the way his right arm is stretched out, hand white-knuckled on the tree he's grasped, the light of the moon leaving dips of shadows dancing across his skin that's normally so golden but the Indiana winter can take that away from even Billy.

"You better have a fucking condom," he growls it. 

Steve answers immediately, "duh," only he's not entirely sure, but it sounds like Billy will murder him if he doesn't. Murder or fumbling for a condom in his wallet while he traces his tongue back down Billy's spine? He'll chose the latter. Especially when Billy's left hand, cold from the frosty air, finds Steve's on his hip and drags it over to his cock. Hard. Very hard. Steve wraps his hand around it, taking the hint as he circles his rim with his tongue again. Billy's entire body goes taut and he curses something that Steve won't repeat. But it does make him breathe out an amused sound between Billy's asscheeks, which makes Billy squirm and curse again. 

Right hand still fumbling for his wallet, he better make this quick. His jeans are entirely too tight even with the half-undone state that Billy left him him. His cock aching for touch, warmth, friction. He pinches his eyes shut, focuses on teasing Billy with his tongue. Reaching for those noises he's making, chasing them with every swipe and drag. He needs another hand. First to push Billy's jeans further down, then to jerk his own cock. They might not get to the condom part. Just yet. Shit, definitely won't if Billy makes that noise again. 

Releasing Billy's cock and aborting the mission to find his wallet, he yanks Billy's jeans down to his knees giving himself access to toy with his balls. It's so fucking cold out. He has no desire to see how his own balls are reacting to the cold air. Warm mouth on a cold night? Seems to be doing the job for Billy. Sucking at his balls while he reaches around his hip to grasp his cock again. The cold air has not effected that part of him. It twitches in Steve's grip, and he remembers his own neglected hard-on aching in his pants. 

He totally needs a second set of hands. Right one moving across the round perfection of Billy's asscheek, dipping his thumb into his crack, pressing the pad of it against his hole. There's that noise again. That is too much. 

The thing about being with Billy is, Steve lacks the confidence he should have with a guy like that, but he's figured out that if he fakes the confidence then Billy won't call him out on it. So he's going to fake this one until he makes it. Pushing just the tip of his thumb past his rim as he adjusts to leave a glistening trail of spit from his balls to his ass and traces around his thumb with the tip of his tongue. Taking Billy's bowed back and the pushing of his ass towards Steve's face as a good sign. 

The search for a condom is good and over, there's no way he can focus on all of this and that at the same time. Might as well jerk Billy's cock and get him off this way. It's too damn cold out to screw around any longer anyway. Plus, that noise, that lost guttural bitten back thing that is just coming out in a steady stream now is enough to make Steve's cock twitch mercilessly against the zipper of his jeans. He could really use one of Billy's hands right now. 

Pushing his thumb in to the knuckle, meeting no resistance, he dips his mouth down to his balls again, moves his hand on his cock in the same rhythm of his thumb's shallow thrusting. Billy's body going taut, tightening around his thumb, his cock lurching with orgasm and spilling over Steve's fist. It's nearly enough to make Steve see stars, but he refuses to give Billy Hargrove the satisfaction of making him cream his pants. 

Billy swats his hands away when he comes down, tugging his pants back up, covering that goosebump mottled flesh. He turns quickly to face Steve. Cheeks pink from cold and from sex. Billy looks hot as hell when he's blown out with pleasure. 

His hands are on Steve's chest immediately, shoving him backwards until his back is against a tree. Eyes sparked in the glow of the moon, brighter than any star could ever be. That damn smirk rising, but now Steve is absolutely certain it's kisses he wants to erase it with. Billy's entire body is against his, caging him in against the tree in the mostly darkness of some random backyard in Hawkins on New Year's Eve, he tells him lowly, his voice gravel and dirt and cigarettes, "you're a freak Harrington," effectively cutting off any response by sealing his mouth over Steve's. Crashing into him with enough force to knock his head off the tree, but he doesn't mind. Especially when Billy's tongue darts out, prying Steve's lips open as his hand closes around his poor forgotten cock that's still hard and close to release. It doesn't take long. Of course it doesn't. Not after what Steve just witnessed. And with Billy crowding his space, attacking his mouth and not noticing or not caring when Steve strokes a hand down his back, gripping his asscheek as he comes with Billy's taste on his tongue. Cigarettes, beer, and a breath mint. 

"Knew you couldn't back down from a dare," mumbled when he comes up for air, and realizes there are party horns being blasted on in the house, and people hollering a countdown. 

Billy's smirk rises against his lips, lingers there as his eyes dart up to meet Steve's and steal is breath once again. He leans in, gently this time. Steve watches as his lids flutter shut and his lips brush against his. He sinks into it. Into the pillow plushness of Billy, the softness that has to be earned with him. A softness that's right there under his brash exterior, but trusted with few. Maybe no one other than Steve. His hand rises, cupping Steve's jaw, pulling back from his lips but leaning forehead to forehead to admit, "would've done it without the dare, Pretty Boy," and then he's gone. Leaving Steve with a cold, empty space in front of him, his dick still out, and an expression he knows is completely idiotic on his face.

Tucking himself in before the cold air makes it shrivel up to nothing, watching as Billy struts away, lighting a cig on his walk, flipping Steve the bird over his shoulder with the orange tip of his smoke nestled between his fingers. 

"Happy New Year to you, too," he calls. Shaking his head to himself while he situates, pats himself down to make sure he has everything before setting off, and finding a damn condom in his pocket. Of course. So he does what any man who is not wrapped around the finger of a gorgeous boy with a bad attitude and a fast car would do. He follows him.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick cheers to my user subscribers, fandom friends, and anyone else who may be reading this, thanks for the support :) Happy New Year!


End file.
